The night air outside the Whitmore Foundation was cold enough to sting.

Amara stepped onto the sidewalk, the sounds of the city rushing back around her — cars, voices, sirens in the distance. New York never slept. It never paused to care whether someone was breaking inside.

She pulled her coat tighter around herself and kept walking.

Each step felt heavier than the last.

Ethan’s words replayed in her head like an unwanted echo.

I didn’t sleep with Lana.

She clenched her jaw.

The truth should have brought relief. Instead, it brought rage — slow, simmering, unbearable.

Because if what he said was true, then the pain she carried for...